7 Wild East (11 page)

*  * 
*

The Wings pulled me aside soon after we started fitting logs
into place. There were enough men that he wasn’t needed for raising the house.
I knew even before he spoke that he was leaving.

“
Listen, now that the guys are on their way back to the
Gulch, I’ve got to go. I have this test to take and I’m out of time
.”

“
I know. Listen, thanks for staying as long as you have
.”
I gave him a quick hug. It was very quick because the Wings embarrasses easily
when it comes to the mushy stuff. “
You knock ’em dead on that test,
eh.”

“Will do.”

It was time for me to help the Flowers fix lunch, but
watching the cabin take shape was fascinating. It went so quickly. All the
advance fittings had paid off. In a couple of places the men laid out strips of
an old horsehair blanket which served as a kind of gasket. But mostly the logs
fit together like they had been extruded in some factory. Little chinking would
be needed.

I turned at the sound of Max and Sisu yowling hello; Thomas
and Ricky were walking down the road, each carrying a fish. It was hard to see
who was prouder of their catch.

And then the Wings flew overhead. He was low and brazen
enough to even waggle his wings as he buzzed us.

Everyone except Pete waved back. The surveyor said something
that probably would have made his mother wash his mouth out with soap.

“I guess the plane is fixed,” I said. “That’s good. Now he
can bring us the parts for the radio.”

Pete stopped swearing and began to look relieved. He climbed
down off the wall and headed for the pub.

Thomas—doubting Thomas—just looked thoughtful as he watched
the plane fly away.

“Time to get lunch. You boys want to have fish for lunch?” I
asked Ricky and Thomas.

“I’m not sure,” Ricky said. “What if I’m eating an
endangered species?”

I looked from Ricky to Thomas who smiled ruefully.

“I don’t think it’s endangered. It’s a bluegill.”

“But maybe it’s a
rare
bluegill. We should check with
the—what’s it called, Thomas?”

“Species at Risk Registry. But it isn’t endangered.”

I shook my head.

“You know the rule. If you kill it, you eat it. The only
exceptions are ants and spiders. And possums in the fall.”

“And ticks and fleas,” Ricky added.

“And centipedes and termites,” Thomas added, getting into
the spirit of things.

“Especially
rare
termites and centralpedes,” Ricky
added, beginning to grin.

“The rarer the better if it’s termites,” I agreed and then
changed the subject slightly because this game of what not to eat could go on
all day. “How about fish with biscuits and greens?”

“Sounds good,” Thomas said promptly. “We even picked some
watercress from the creek.”

“Excellent,” I said, hoping the biologist knew the
difference between watercress and less edible things.

“Don’t worry. It is watercress,” he said.

“You, young Thomas, see entirely too much,” I told him.
“Come along now. We’ll make some lunch and then come back to watch the roof go
on.”

The roof was up! There had been a couple tricky moments
getting everything in place, but once there it fit as nicely as a jigsaw
puzzle. The Flowers was misty eyed and Sasha would be so surprised—and I
thought pleased—to find the cabin mostly done. There was still finishing work
to do, like completing the loft where Ricky’s bedroom would be and putting in
the stove, but it would be ready by the time the bad weather came.

The last thing the men did was to pound iron stakes into the
ground which led back to the Lonesome Moose. Billy Jones had fired up the old
forge and made them the day before. They were basically sticks with an eye on
the top, not pretty but heavy and functional.

Seeing Thomas and Pete’s curiosity I explained.

“They’ll hold guide ropes in the winter. We have them all
through town.”

“Your snows are that bad?” Pete asked, again looking
concerned and probably worrying about the pipeline. “Nothing in our reports
suggested these kinds of conditions.”

“Yes. It’s some localized weather event. A few times a year
we get terrible blizzards, complete whiteouts. These ropes are our lifelines if
we need the Doc or are just going cabin crazy and need company after being
snowed in.”

*  * 
*

The Wings was standing at attention dressed in his best
clothes on the tarmac of James Armstrong Richardson International Airport in
Winnipeg awaiting the flight official who was walking purposefully toward him
from the terminal. The official wore a comb-over, thick black-framed glasses,
and a pocket protector. No doubt that was a clip-on tie that he wore with his
short sleeve dress shirt and polyester pants. The Wings nearly snickered but
caught himself at the last moment. The little man continued to advance until he
came to a halt directly in front of the Wings.

“I’m Nathan Hawthorne, with Transport Canada Civil Aviation.
I’ll assume that you are Mr. Danny Jones-McIntyre and you are here today to
satisfy the test requirements of the TCCA required to renew your commercial
pilot’s license. Is that correct?”

The man sounded like he was reading from a document, but he
wasn’t. What was worse was that he sounded like he was reading from a legal
document. The Wings shuddered at the thought.

“Well, I’ll have to take your word for it that you’re Nathan
Hawthorne,” the Wings replied, trying to insert some humor into the situation,
“but I can vouch for the rest as being true.”

“Are you asking to see my identification?” Mr. Hawthorne
snapped back.

“No, of course not. I trust you,” the Wings stammered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because I will show you if you want me to.”

“No, thank you.”

Danny thought he’d struck the right balance between showing
his fun-loving side and actually answering the man’s question. But apparently
not. Mr. Hawthorne sized him up for a moment before he continued with more
legalese.

“Oddly enough, I referenced our computer records and could
find little to no information regarding Mr. Danny Jones-McIntyre other than
your commercial pilot’s license. I wonder if you might enlighten me as to which
official documents you used to become licensed in the first place?”

“Oh now, that’s a long story,” Danny replied, trying to
laugh the question off.

“I have all day,” Mr. Hawthorne replied.

“You know, my birth certificate and driver’s license. Things
like that.”

“And are you prepared to produce those records today in
order to verify your identity?”

“I don’t have them with me.”

“Bring those records to my office as soon as possible to
facilitate the reissuance of your pilot’s license.”

Hawthorne opened his logbook to make a note.

“You mean you’re not going to renew my license today?”

“Doubtful.”

“But how am I supposed to get back to McIntyre’s Gulch?”

“Charter a flight. Surely you know someone in the business
that will offer you a ride.”

The Wings grumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” Hawthorne asked.

“Nothing. I was just commenting on the efficiency of the
TCCA in conducting these flight exams.”

Hawthorne ignored the slight, changing his focus from the
pilot to his plane.

“Are you willing to certify that this airplane is airworthy
and that you are prepared to fly it today with one passenger functioning as
your flight examiner?”

“I am,” the Wings replied forcefully. “The old girl has
never been more ready.”

To show just how ready his plane was, Danny slapped his hand
down hard on the engine cowling. A loud clank came from inside the engine
compartment. The access hatch popped open to deposit a wrench on the tarmac.

“Ah, so that’s what happened to that thing,” the Wings said,
scooping up the errant tool and slipping it into his pocket.

“Mr. Jones-McIntyre.…” Hawthorne began.

“You can call me the Wings,” Danny corrected.

“What was that tool doing in the engine compartment of your
plane?”

“I believe that it was resting where my mechanic left it.”

“I see,” Hawthorne replied, making another note in his log. “You
should have a word with your mechanic. Let’s move on to your preflight check.”

Can’t we just get in the air, the Wings nearly screamed. If
only they could get in the air then Danny could show this desk jockey how to
fly. The Wings was no good with the rules and regulations, but still he was born
to fly. And Danny could prove that if he could just make it through the
preflight check.

*  * 
*

That afternoon my period started. Fortunately I had some
time alone and could digest in private the various feelings that filled me one
after the other.

First there was relief. The relief was huge—all-encompassing.
It lasted for several minutes and left me weak in the knees.

Then, once able, I got up and made a cup of tea and waited
for the disappointment that must surely follow. Eventually it came, but it was
nowhere as strong as my first reaction had been.

And that was because deep down inside I knew that having
children, in my circumstances—an illegal alien and wanted for terrorism in the
States—was insane. I would never be safe. Not completely. Look how this pipeline
thing had come up. There were no guarantees. And it was irresponsible to think
of giving any hostages to fate. Chuck had decided to share my exile and that
was his choice. But I had no right to inflict it on an innocent child.

It was this thought that finally made me cry.

But not for long. We still had a town that needed saving,
and I had cried for these things already. They deserved no more tears. It was
time to put away childish things.

*  * 
*

The Wings had been flying now for over an hour with his
flight examiner in the copilot’s seat. The examiner would call for a simple
maneuver or ask him some simple question about radio frequencies or what to do
in an emergency and Danny would deftly perform the maneuver or answer the
question. He figured that if he kept on with what he was doing he would pass
the test, but he wasn’t satisfied with just passing the test. He wanted to
impress the desk pilot sitting beside him and to do that he might have to get a
little crazy.

“Perform a fifteen-degree bank to the right and maintain
altitude,” Hawthorne instructed.

The Wings couldn’t help it. To a certain extent, his body
moved of its own accord performing the maneuver with a delicate flourish. Dropping
a bit of altitude, Danny pulled back on the yoke and rose smoothly into
position to add a little flourish to the turn. He noticed the examiner only
frowned and made a note in his log.

The Wings was frustrated and fully prepared for the
remainder of the exam to be boring when all hell broke loose. Danny never got a
chance to react before they entered a flock of geese that must have been late
flying north for the summer. The birds peppered the outside of the craft,
making loud impact noises as they hit. Several of the birds were sucked into
both of the engines. One of them hit the cockpit windshield, shattering the
glass. The plane exited the flock as quickly as it had entered but as it did so
both engines sputtered and died. The Wings was busy trying to keep the plane
steady as he banked over the forest, presumably searching for a clearing in
which to land.

“Get on the radio and contact Winnipeg tower. Tell them we
need runway four cleared for an emergency landing,” the Wings ordered.

“But you’ll never make it back to Winnipeg without power,”
the examiner argued. “It would be better to set down in a clearing and hope for
the best.”

“I am not setting this baby down in a clearing. It would
mess her all up. Besides, I think I can make the field, though it’s going to be
close.”

Hawthorne stopped arguing and manned the radio as instructed.
While the flight examiner explained the situation to Winnipeg tower, the Wings
fought with the stubborn controls and tried to find a clear spot in the
windshield, something between the cracks, through which he could see where the
heck they were going. Land and trees loomed large but so did large open spots
should the need arise. However, the farther they glided the more it appeared
that Danny was right, they were going to just carry landing strip number four.

It wasn’t until they were on their final approach that they
received the bad news over the radio.

“
CFACB
, be warned that we’ve been
unable to contact
N987CP
who may be taking off from runway
four this very moment.”

And sure enough, they were right. The Wings was about to
touch down when he saw the plane straight ahead of him preparing to take off. There
was nothing else to do. The Wings threw his plane into a barrel roll that
flipped the plane upside down and sent it lofting over the lumbering obstacle. Danny
looked down through the clear canopy as they passed over the other plane and
saw the other pilot, eyes wide, spouting some obscenity. They were so close to
the ground when the Wings performed the maneuver that one of the wing’s tips
scraped the tarmac. Then the landing gear crashed down which jarred everything
loose in the cockpit and sent the plane into a skid.

The plane skidded to a halt on the grass verge beside the
runway. To his surprise and relief, Danny had sustained no injuries. Mr.
Hawthorne appeared to be alright as well, except that he looked like he might
have soiled himself during the landing. Unfortunately, the Wings was pretty
sure that his plane hadn’t come through the ordeal unscathed.